Ink
by Lyrelle
Summary: The night before Harry faces Voldemort for the last time, Ginny responds to a letter from Harry. Companion piece/sequel to my story 'Parchment.'


Author's Note: This is a little companion ficlette to my story "Parchment," which is archived at www.fanfiction.net and at www.gryffindortower.net. Thank yous go out to all who reviewed that story – you gave me the courage to try again. I hope this piece meets with your approval. I'm not done tinkering with these two stories yet, but I decided that any more than nine months between postings would be a bit excessive. Reviews of any flavour are always appreciated. And thanks bunches to Anne, who(m?) I pestered to death with this fic.

And of course, all of this belongs to JK Rowling. No money is being made off this work and no copyright infringement is intended.

*****

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm afraid._

_I've been afraid plenty of times in my life. Growing up with Fred and George tends to make you fear even your stuffed animals. But never like now – never with that sickening drop of the stomach that never seems to stop falling away. Never without the assurance that someone would come running to make it all okay again._

_If that makes me still a child, then so be it. All my life, I've depended on others to fix the things I couldn't, and it's always been done. Oh, I can take care of myself, I know that. But it's nice to know that if I ever can't, someone will. Most of my life Mum fixed things for me. She'd send Fred and George scampering, and dry my tears, and fix me some hot cocoa. Then, when I got to Hogwarts, she wasn't there. You were, though. And though you didn't come with a steaming cup of cocoa, you still made everything better. I noticed, later, that you hadn't even told on me. I had almost got you killed, and you still protected me._

_Now, though, there is no assurance of a happy ending. No one can give me one, and I cannot make one. I feel more helpless now than I was even my first year here, and it frightens me. I don't know what made you feel this way about me. If these were different times, I'd be coquettish and shy, maybe even aloof – just to make you suffer a bit for only just noticing me now. I'd leave you unsure of my feelings, and carry on the dance that every fool in love has danced since the beginning of time. We'd have fun, you and I, tormenting each other, tormenting Ron and Hermione, plotting grand plots and dreaming grand dreams. But these are not dreaming times, and so you have left to do what must be done._

_I am afraid. Afraid that I can't carry on without someone here to catch me if I fall. Afraid that I can and that life will keep going even if the worst happens. Afraid of all the things left unsaid. Afraid of what tomorrow will bring. A Gryffindor's defining trait is supposed to be courage. Right now, all I feel is fear._

_As I look over the snow-stilled grounds, however, I know that my fear will pass. I am strong. Whatever happens, I promise you that I will keep the promises you asked of me. I will live the life you are giving to me. I promise._

_But still, I am afraid. Afraid that this scrap of parchment will not reach you in time, that I will not have the chance to say what has been gradually building for what seems my entire life._

_I am afraid that you will never know that I love you. Because, Harry, I do. I love you. And though the words seem strange to write, I know that they are true. And I want you to know that. I need you to know that. I need you to know that as I sit here, terrified and chilled by the dawning day, I think of your love, and I am warmed. I think of your kindness, and I feel like giving. I think of your courage, and I am emboldened. I think of you, and I feel like living. Thank you for all that you've given me. I can only give you my love in return, and in that, all that I am._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

Ginny flew downstairs and out into the snow. It was deep, and hard to walk through, but she barely noticed. She quickly swung open the heavy door to the owlery and fell inside to its relative warmth.

"Hedwig!" A rush of snowy feathers came out of the loft. "Please, take this to Harry. I don't know where he is, but I think you can find him. Please, Hedwig."  The owl stuck out her leg, and Ginny tied on the message with trembling fingers. "Please hurry, Hedwig." 

The owl ruffled her feathers and was gone, disappearing eastward into the rising sun. Ginny watched her go. She had not stopped moving since Hedwig had landed on her arm that morning at five. The bewilderment of the appearance of Harry's owl in her bed at such an ungodly hour – any hour, really – was enough to shake her fully awake. Besides, Hedwig had been quite insistent – hopping about in a manner the dignified animal usually reserved for Pig. "Pyrrhus Rex," Ginny said. The Fat Lady looked at her with concerned eyes but said nothing as she swung open. Ginny sank into her favorite chair – the one Harry had mentioned in the letter. The letter . . . Ginny took in deep, steadying breaths. The letter that had contained all she had dreamed about – but she had never dreamed it like this. The tears that had been held back in the rush to get her own letter off began to trickle down her face. Ginny angrily swiped at them and brought out Harry's letter once more. It was no use. She couldn't even read it for the tears that blocked her vision. Curled up in her chair, she gave in to the sobs that threatened to tear her apart.

"Ginny." Gentle hands were shaking her. She didn't want to wake up. She was at a ball, and Harry was there, and holding her . . . his eyes spoke so much . . . "Ginny."

"What?" snapped Ginny, sitting bolt upright. "Oh, hi, Hermione."

"Ginny, have you been asleep down here all night?" Without waiting for an answer, Hermione rushed on. "Have you seen Harry? Ron woke up this morning and he was gone, and now we can't find him anywhere."

Harry. Harry was gone. Memory flooded back in a rush, and Ginny collapsed back into the seat. "He . . . he left, Hermione. To go face Voldemort."

"Oh! Oh no! Why didn't he tell us?"

Ginny shrugged. She didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about him being gone. Didn't want to think about the letter, about loving him. Love. He'd said he loved her. But she didn't want to think about that. Thinking would do no good right now. He was in danger and there was nothing she could do about it. Love. He'd said he loved her. No, she wouldn't think about how he'd said she had his love. She wouldn't think about his bravery or his selflessness or the way he loved her or the chance he might not come back or his eyes or . . .

Ginny vaguely noticed Hermione leave to find Ron. She had to get out of this cycle. There was no good in trying to not think about something unless you were in fact going to not think about it. The sick feeling of dread in her stomach wasn't going away by sitting there. She stood up. The house elves had been preparing a feast for the victims of the war that were being cared for at Hogwarts. She'd go see if she could help. 

She turned from the window, but just as she turned, a flash of red caught her eye. A single rose was peeking from the snow outside. It was battered and frost-bitten, but it was the most brilliant red she had ever seen.

*****


End file.
